


A Necessary Distraction

by watts



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Mission Fic, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watts/pseuds/watts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strike Team Delta were wrapping up a mission in Europe at a ball thrown by one of Italy’s most influential mob families, when a familiar face turned up and threw a spanner in the works for Natasha. A distraction was needed and Natasha, of course, chose an unorthodox method. Clint certainly wasn’t complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Necessary Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt "Natasha is going undercover at a party but a sudden change in mission objective means Clint is no longer watching from outside but needs to be at the party with her, and they have to dance" over on tumblr. 
> 
> (It’s less about dancing and more about inappropriate public groping, and there’s a lot of hand waving over mission details because I have no idea how those sort of things work, but, you know, I tried.)

The ball was in full swing below him, impeccably dressed men and women dancing, drinking and gossiping to the backdrop of one of Europe's most prestigious jazz bands. Clint shifted uncomfortably in his dinner jacket, acutely aware of the restriction the stupid thing would create if he needed to start shooting. The shirt he wore underneath wasn't much better, still new and stiff with starch, itchy against his belly and back. Still, even if he didn't appreciate the get up the evening required of him, he was grateful he could at least stay in the shadows, spending most of his time in the doorways up on the balcony above the main floor. Most of the other people who came up there were staff, and while some of them probably thought it was strange to see one of the guests lurking away from the crowds, at a party this high class he doubted it was the weirdest thing they'd seen this evening and wasn't particularly worried about them reporting it to anyone.

It wasn't a particularly complicated mission, and Strike Team Delta's presence at the Sorrentino family's grand ball marked the last stage of the operation. The party was being held in honour of the youngest daughter's engagement, and when Clint saw the happy look on the girl's face as she flitted between her fiancé, family and the other guests he felt something that was almost regret at the fact that her father would be dead before the end of the night.

Well, it would have been regret if not for the whole drug-smuggling, kidnapping, over-a-hundred-unexplained-deaths thing, anyway.

Sorrentino's daughter was practically radiant in her happiness, and had it not been for the presence of Clint's partner she would have been the most beautiful woman in the room. As it was, Natasha was drawing gazes from all over, the men slack jawed; the women scowling. Her outfit was perfect for the occasion, a demure hemline that fell only half an inch from her knees teamed with a neckline that showed off more than enough of her bountiful breasts, the sleeves of her dress falling away slightly at her shoulders to reveal porcelain skin and prominent collar bones. She played her part as Sorrentino junior's date perfectly, a coy smile on her face as she stayed clamped to his side, occasionally glancing up at her date's face with a look anyone else would perceive as genuine affection. Clint knew better, and saw the flicker of irritation that crossed her face for only fractions of a second when the kid spoke.

Managing to draw his eyes away from Natasha, Clint focused himself for the time being on tracking the actions of their mark. Pietro Sorrentino was a slim man with a pointed face and rapidly receding hairline, and had spent most of the party so far schmoozing with his various associates. From an outsider's perspective he was a proud father who wasn't afraid to let his business and personal life overlap -- those that knew better saw a ruthless criminal neck deep in some of the country's most horrific organised crime.

Clint's two points of interest happened to crossover after an hour or so when Sorrentino senior decided to check up on his son. He couldn't help but be impressed at Natasha's reaction to the older man's hand planting itself firmly on her ass: a girlish giggle rather than the string of curse words and a broken arm that any other person would have received for the same action. Even as Pietro conversed with the handful of other people gathered around he managed to keep contact with Natasha, pawing at her arm or grasping her waist.

Clint realised his hands had formed fists by his sides, his jaw clenched as he watched Natasha being basically groped in front of him. He took a deep breath and tried to shake himself out of the funk, knowing that he had no right to feel angry or annoyed – or, God forbid, protective – of her in these sorts of situations. Natasha was his partner and by far the most capable person he knew, and this was her job. He had no claim to whatsoever, her work life and personal life not his business in the slightest. Besides, if Natasha thought for one moment he was getting outraged at what was essentially her just doing what she needed to, she would probably beat the crap out of him for it. And enjoy doing it.

He really needed stop thinking about her like that.

For the briefest moment Natasha looked away from the other guests and met his eye. She smiled at him and something in his stomach flip-flopped and damn, he was screwed to hell. It was the tiny smile he was certain he was only one of a handful of people to have seen, the slightest quirk of her lips and gleam in her eyes that was a million miles away from the toothy grin that served as the last nail in the coffin for so many of their targets. 

Sorrentino chose that moment to take his son by the shoulder and guide him over to a group of men involved enough in the family's misdeeds for Clint and Natasha to have all of their details memorised; time spent reading their files meant that Clint knew plenty about each of these men, from the names of their children to one in particular's frequent visits to a the most notorious strip club in the area. 

“I'm starting to wonder if Daddy's got some sort of idea about what's going on; he's spent most of the evening convincing Junior to get more involved in the family business. There's been so many innuendoes thrown around I'm beginning to think they want people to start asking questions.” Natasha had taken the men's absence as an opportunity to slip off towards the bar, and under the pretence of playing with her hair she'd reached up and flicked on her comm. 

“Does that mean he's stopped going on about that bike? 'Cause I gotta say, I've never even talked to the guy and I'm sick of hearing about it.”

“Oh, please. He 's been whispering in my ear all night about the stencilling he's going to put on 'Stella'. Who actually names their bike, anyway?”

“Hey, nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh, of course, wouldn't want to hurt Mabel's feelings. God, why are they all named after old women? Couldn't you think of a better name, Clint?”

She carried out this whole conversation without attracting a speck of attention (other than that she'd already been drawing the whole night), barely moving her mouth and pausing to order two drinks at one point, starting the walk back towards the two men they were targeting. Clint was just about to start defending his beloved car when Natasha cursed over the comm. 

“Familiar face?”

“Yes.”

“Red Room?”

“Yes.  I don't know if she'll recognise me but I'm sure she was there. Fuck. We're going to need to speed this along.”

“...”

“Clint?”

He was careful to conceal his urgency as he crossed the room towards her, almost trotting down the stairs and weaving in between small clusters of guests and dancing couples until he was standing beside her, close enough to smell the perfume he'd seen her spray on earlier that evening. 

“Looks like your old friend just spotted you,” he told her in a low voice, taking one of the drinks she has grasped in her hands. "Wants to say hello. Very kind of you to get him a drink, I must say."

“You're an idiot,” she replied, her voice even but the irritation clear in her expression. He carefully arranged his features in an arrogant smirk rather than the look he almost let cross his face – one he can only imagine would have been described as lecherous.

By all rights she should have looked less flawless up close; there should have been blemishes in the artwork that was his partner. However, now he was standing right in front of her all he could notice was the way one side of her full top lip was slightly less plump than the other; the freckle to the left of her nose; the one scarlet tendril that had fallen out of its curl and been tucked away behind her ear. Maybe these little features might take away from her image as the Widow, an indestructible mistress of seduction, but they were the things that made Clint appreciate her, Natasha, as a woman; as a person. 

Fuck, he was getting whimsical and he hadn't even had a drink. What was going on? He mentally slapped himself and forced his mind to focus on the issue at hand.

“Now, sweetheart, be nice to your old pal,” he chided, swallowing the last of his drink (damn, he hated bourbon) and handing both of their empty glasses off to a passing waiter. “Time to dance.”

She raised her eyebrows infinitesimally but took his proffered hand, letting him pull her close to his body.

“Junior's not going to like this,” she said quietly, and he was proud of the way he repressed the shudder that should have accompanied her breath hitting so close to his ear. 

“No. Not a bad way to get Sorrentino alone, though. He might drag you away to a secluded spot. Two birds with one stone; get you alone with him to finish him off and keep her from getting too close.”

“I thought you were supposed to be some sort of tactical genius, Barton. This feels an awful lot like winging it.”

“Which I thought you liked.” 

Her hand slid from its place on his shoulder to wander a little further down his back, pressing herself a little closer to him. 

“4 o'clock.”

Clint turned them slightly, sweeping his gaze across the people gathered around them until he spotted a likely figure. It took him a fraction of a second longer than it should – he was more than a little distracted by the proximity of her mouth to his neck, her eye line only marginally lower than his in her heels.

“The brunette?”

“Yes. Is she looking?”

“She has once, a quick glance. I can't call it; probably safest to eliminate if possible.” 

Natasha nodded slightly, meeting his gaze. “Can you handle that while I take out Big Daddy?”

He let himself laugh a little at the ridiculous nickname they'd come to associate with one of the most dangerous mob bosses in Europe. She took his laughter as a yes, it seemed, and leant in closer to his ear.

“Grab my ass,” she breathed, and for a moment he was certain he'd heard wrong. There was an amused glint in her eye as she took in his startled expression. “They're looking over here, and we still need a distraction; grab my ass. Junior's blood will absolutely _boil_.”

Well, he didn't need telling twice. He let the hand that was currently lightly covering her waist slip slowly lower, his palm grazing over the soft material of her dress before squeezing the firm flesh beneath his fingers. To his surprise she slid her hand, out of view of their targets, up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and pulled his head down into the curve of her neck. The smell of her filled his nostrils and he could barely hold himself back from nuzzling his nose against the soft skin underneath her ear. 

“Come on, Barton,” she said, her tone nothing short of a purr, “I know you can do better than that.” With a slight toss of her head her hair fell over her opposite shoulder, exposing his actions to the men watching them closely from across the room. Clint's honourable intentions flew out of the window and he palmed her rear more firmly, lowering his mouth to her neck and mouthing the pale flesh. Natasha let out a tiny gasp at his actions that he would have sworn was real, a far cry from the dramatic moaning he'd heard over their comm link on a few painful occasions. Spurred on by her reaction he nipped at her skin, trying to resist the urge to suck on the spot until it marked; he wanted to see his work mapped out on her skin. However, he was all too aware of her distaste for such actions so he contented himself with scraping the skin lightly with his teeth, unable to hold back a grin when she dug her fingernails into his shoulder, hard enough he was certain there'd be marks left there despite the barrier of his suit. The idea was thrilling, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach and his dick now fully hard in his pants. 

He realised she could most likely feel his enthusiasm, her body still pulled almost flush against his, and he figured he should be embarrassed. He wasn't; her laboured breathing was enough to tell him he wasn't the only one affected by their activities. 

“Are they looking?”

Her words felt like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him, and he forced himself out of his stupor to glance over her shoulder. He was unable to make himself remove his lips from her, opting instead to lick and suck his way up the column of her neck, glancing under his lashes to see if their marks were paying attention. 

He was definitely pushing it by this point, but he wanted to make the most of an opportunity he wasn't sure he'd get again. It was very clear to him that Natasha was enjoying this part of their distraction, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew her well enough to know the masochistic side of her stopped her from engaging in things she enjoyed more often than not, her fixation on balancing her ledger coming first in her mind above her own pleasure. It was more than likely that while she was willing to enjoy this moment between them when it served to help their objective, she would return back to her default setting once the mark was terminated and they were back at headquarters. 

“They're coming over,” he told her, combining his words with a quick pinch of her ass, pulling her tighter against him. He could only imagine how ridiculous they must look, her head thrown back with his mouth firmly attached to her neck, practically grinding against one another in the middle of one of the classiest parties he's ever had to crash, but somehow their incongruousness with both their surroundings and their original plans for the evening only urged him on. 

“Do they look ready to drag me off into a dark corner?” She asked him quietly, her fingers stroking the nape of his neck far more gently than he'd ever imagined her touching him. He risked a longer look at the men now only halfway across the room from them and saw that while Sorrentino junior looked very put out that his date was in the arms of another man his father still looked relatively calm, no display of the violent temper reported to them by the few witness who'd dared to come forward.

“They might drag you off, but not to a dark corner. Just away. Need to get them alone,” he reported under his breath, raising his head to look at her face as she considered their options.Whatever he thought her plan would be, he certainly wasn't expecting the one she voiced a second later.

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me. It'll drive him crazy to see his son's date being so...impudent. So kiss me.”

“I...” His mouth was suddenly dry, leaving him unable to finish his thought. The display they'd put on moments earlier was one thing, but to kiss her was another. It was all he wanted to do, but he was scared that once he'd had a taste of her he wouldn't be able to go without. It was one thing to constantly push the aching desire he felt for her to one side when all he had to go was his own imagination; it would be another entirely to have to go on being her partner when he knew exactly what he was missing. 

She could obviously see his hesitation and squeezed his hand in her own. 

“Clint, please. I want...please.” 

Maybe the desperate look in her eye stemmed from the twenty paces stretched between the two of them and the rapidly approaching mark, or the presence of an old foe from her past, but when she looked at him, asked him to kiss her when she never asked him for anything, there was no way he could refuse her.

He dipped his head to hers, moulding their lips together. He took the hand that was wrapped in hers and moved it to her cheek, cupping it gently as he revelled in the feeling of her mouth against his. It was everything he could have hoped for, more than he'd ever imagined and there was no way he could let her go after this. Her lips were firm and soft and pressed against his insistently, the hand around his neck tightening and shit, with the way she bucked her hips ever so slightly against his there was no way she hadn't noticed how aroused he was. They only had a moment before the Sorrentinos reached them, but he managed to sweep his tongue against the seam of her lips, drawing the lower one into his mouth for the scarcest moment before he felt a rough hand on his shoulder shove them apart.

The soft noise she'd made and the word she murmured to him as they were separated left him stunned.

“Later.”

They stepped apart and within the blink of an eye she was the Widow once more, all tipsy apologies and glances from under her lashes. She let herself be led away from the crowd and after a moment she was gone from sight.  

Later. Later. He felt for the reassuring weight of the small handgun in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, keeping his eyes trained on the brunette Natasha had identified earlier as he retreated once again into the shadows, the feel of her lips still burning against his own. Right now he had a job to do, but later certainly couldn't come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first (posted) foray in the Marvel fandom as well as being the first thing I've written in quite a while, so any feedback would be cherished!


End file.
